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Wow, sorry for all the writing today, but I was looking over my blog and I realized that somehow I completely forgot to post about Saxtoberfest! It was this great event at Whitworth where this guy demonstrated all (well, almost) of the different saxophones. There's more than just four folks! From the piccolo sax to the subcontrabass! If you've got a few spare moments, check out all his amazing sound samples and pictures of saxes and other woodwinds.
First of all I'd like to allay the anxieties of all those blog-readers out there. I'm really very silly and my grades are (currently) fine. Long story short. Let's move one.
Busy weekendness with lots of opportunities for ranting! Friday I made a sincere effort to attend a distant friend's birthday party. She lived in my dorm last year and although I've never spent much time with her I've always felt we were kindred spirits in a sense. So now that she's living off campus and not so connected to college/social life I thought it would be good to get to know her a little better. Unfortunately the event kicked off late, so I basically got to stand around and make small talk for half an hour and then had to leave. But I hope we catch up with each other someday. She seems like a neat girl and I'm sure we'd have a lot to talk about.
The reason I had to leave early was because of an unfortunate event. Another friend of mine who was in my hall freshman year is transferring schools to a far away place. She's been having back problems and needs to be closer to home for treatment and so on. I haven't had the chance to see her much since that first year of school, but she is one of the funniest people I know and I will really miss seeing her on campus. It's just another reminder of how short our time at college really is and how most of these great relationships we form while here are destined to a premature close. She decided to have a farewell dinner at Red Robin and since that was the last chance I would have to see her again, I opted out of my other friend's birthday to attend. Although I didn't get to talk with her as much as I'd hoped, I did get to catch up with some other Jenkins girls and that was really good. I hope she does well at her new school and makes lots of new friends, even though we will miss her a lot.
I spent most of Saturday at the WSMTNA piano competitions. I was required to observe performances for 2.5 hours because of my lesson scholarship. Unfortunately I didn't time my arrivals very well and ended up waiting a lot. Luckily I had Jane Austen with me so I read a good chunk of Pride and Prejudice. I was also given a chance to rant about how much I hate competitions. It seems to me that someone sits and thinks "How can we make music not fun?" and from that we get competitions. Okay, so they have their place. I do admire the excellence that the contestants strive for, competitions do foster a higher standard of playing and that's important. But I think, and I almost always have, that there's too much emphasis on trophies and medals and getting first prize in the music world. I quit competing when I was in junior high for 2 simple reasons. One, it was about as fun as sticking a shard of glass into your eye. Two, because I wasn't any good at it. Gosh I hate John Coltrane. More on that later. Anyhow, piano competitions. They attract some first-rate artists, which is great. And yet, I think that someone can play a piece flawlessly with all the expression and phrasing and whatever and still fail to make MUSIC. Because music should be more than the right motions at the right times. Now, some people manage to rise above the competition atmosphere, but they are few. Think about it. The performer is beyond nervous and unless they are a very strong sort of person they are not enjoying themselves at all. They're either focused on winning or just focused on not screwing up in front of the judges. And they're paranoid about everyone in the room watching them. The judges are the antagonists. Either terrifying or menacing depending on the confidence of the performer. Meanwhile everyone in the room/competition is busy hating/fearing everybody else. We're not sitting down to enjoy an evening of music, we're in a war man! Parents are the worst. Full of anxiety about their kid and wo befall any other child who threatens their kid's chance at the top spot! As for the judges, they sit and listen to pianist after pianist, growing fatigued in this charged atmosphere whilst trying to listen for the minutest details. Tell me, does this sound like an environment in which music, and I don't mean technically good music but joyful, life-filled music, would flourish? Like I said, they have their place, but they can get ugly.
I didn't really enjoy my 2 hour stint. I listened to four pianists. The first was a beautiful thin Asian girl who played some very, very challenging pieces and was almost equal to them. Unfortunately her program was just a trifle too demanding in my opinion which left her open to some minor mistakes and less than adequate expression. But all in all her playing was very impressive and far better than mine to be sure. Next was a sort of awkward, pale young man with glasses who played at a less-challenging level than the girl but also made some mistakes and was not as expressive. The third pianist I heard was the best of the four in my opinion. He was very tall and looked kind of like Ringo from his early days with the Beatles. Once again his pieces were not as challenging as the girl's, but he played them with almost perfect poise and accuracy and in a way that allowed me to actually enjoy what he was playing. Unfortunately he overran his time limit but I still hope he did well. The last performer was truly interesting. She had dark skin and a beautiful face, wore ridiculously tall high heels and had her hair up in a precarious bun. The high heels were unfortunate because there was no way for her to gracefully pedal with them. Her pieces were very difficult but she had some memory lapses and mistakes that made me think "why do these kids try to play such showy pieces when they could play so much better with something less flashy?" Also, on her last piece, which was very rhythmic, her bun started falling out so that by the time she stood up to bow it was everywhere! This in addition to her rather unique way of breathing/vocalizing/sometimes counting out loud made it difficult for me and my friends to keep a straight face, which really isn't fair since she did play very well and above and beyond what I'm capable of. She just needs to work on her presentation a little bit. :-)
So with all this competition nonsense there were NO practice rooms. I was really unhappy because I'm performing with my combo and Jazz II at the Eastern Jazz Festival on Thursday. Oh well. I guess whatever happens, happens. Speaking of jazz, Jazz I had it's concert with guest artist Terence Blanchard yesterday and it was amazing. It wasn't quite as good as the one last year with Robin Eubanks in my opinion but that's nitpicky. Whenever you get the chance to see grammy-winning jazz artists, you pretty much can't complain. This guy started out with the likes of Lionel Hampton and Art Blakey! But for all that he seemed really down to earth and was really supportive of Whitworth's musicians. It was neat.
Today, after listening to the Men's Chorus at Colbert, I celebrated my father's 58th birthday at the Downriver Grill. My parents and Eric and Jenny were there. We know one of the chefs, which is fun, the food's very good and it was nice to see my family since I don't very often anymore. I got my Dad a Whitworth Dad sweatshirt (I hope this one fits!) It was also my parents' 33rd wedding anniversary! Wow. S0 a very full weekend altogether and a very full week ahead. I just have to make it through the 20th and then it will be Thanksgiving break!
Oh, and John Coltrane. He's revered in the jazz world. He's one of the biggest names there is. It's pretty much blasphemy not to like him. And yet I don't. He gives me a headache. I understand that his ideas are all revolutionary and stuff, but his tone is just icky. Sorry, but even if I am a small fish two-bit sophomoric jazz-pianist wannabe I'm entitled to my opinion. Coltrane is not fun to listen to, although the piano section of Softly isn't too bad. :-0)
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Now playing: John Coltrane - Softly As In A Morning Sunrise
via FoxyTunes
So, I consider myself a good student. Or used to. I used to consider myself as an A student. I'm not satisfied with anything beneath an A. Even if it's an A-. That said, I don't mind an A- or two, or even the occasional B. Anything below that is sure to upset me however. I got my first B- in college last semester in Reporting for Mass Media. I was really disappointed, especially since my goal is to have a cumulative GPA that's above a 3.75. The fact that I have not reached this is disappointing, but it would be even worse if my grades dropped below a 3.5. Then I'd lose my scholarship. Not all of it, but I'd be receiving less money and I'm already in enough debt as it is. That's one way that I can fund my education without burdening my future finances or my parents, but if I end up not meeting that requirement, I don't know what I'll do.
I've never had a reason to seriously worry about this before now. But for some reason I'm just not making it this semester. It's stupid. I'm confident of an A in one class, and that's not enough. Mostly what's worrying me is Financial Accounting. After doing extremely poorly on our first test (and I was above the class average, which tells you something) I was confident I could salvage my grade if I just did well on all the homework and the remaining tests. If I can do better on the final, it will replace my lowest test score. But I may have blown this opportunity because of a project that I didn't realize was worth the same amount as a test. I did not leave myself enough time to do the project as well as I would have liked, and I'm really, really disappointed in myself for that. There may be no way to save my grade after this. (Trust me, it's bad). We have our second test tomorrow and I'm seriously worried.
I'm also anxious to get my Core test back because I REALLY need an A in that class now as it's worth the most credits. I've been getting stupid B+'s on all my conducting exams, and that's just stupid. I should be able to get A's easily in that class and I would I'm sure if I'd just take the time to practice. Once again it's not my ability level that's holding me back but my responsibility.
My current cumulative is lower than I would like in any case, so I had a lot riding on this semester. Especially since the apparent perception is that you're supposed to have everything together by junior year. You're supposed to be responsible by now. They expect a higher level of performance. I'm obviously not living up to that. I thought I was more intelligent than this. I thought I could handle more. I'm just so angry with myself right now for the fact that I cannot consistently maintain good grades anymore!
And honestly, it makes me feel really stupid when I look at all my friends who have double majors and are taking all these writing-intensive upper-division credits and are in laureate society and I can't even pass stupid financial accounting or my stupid 2 credit conducting class or get a solid A in lessons or Core or ANYTHING! And we saw what happened when I did take an upper-division course. A lot of my friends have 2 majors and a minor and are doing great and I'm struggling with just one major and a minor. I wanted to prove that I was equal to succeeding at the college level, especially because I come from a small high school where academic standards weren't that high. Maybe it's my pride talking but I wanted to be the exception to the rule. And I know I shouldn't compare myself to other people but that's exactly what employers do and I'm just so frustrated with my major and I'm really worried about what I'll do after college. I'd really like to add a Jazz Performance track to my music major but I don't dare try because I'd have to pass upper-division and obviously I'm already sinking under the business track.
I've just been thinking that my college career is over halfway done and that once I get out, it's over. It's time for the real world. No more music for one. If I'm lucky I'll get employed as a secretary or something and hate my job and be struggling to pay rent somewhere and pay off my loans. It's one thing to get a job as a music major. But on top of that "oh, I see you did poorly in all your business classes... Hmmm I think we'll hire somebody else." My brother isn't helping matters. Every time I see him he tells me how much he regrets being a music major and how much he dislikes his job and how I should enjoy college while I can because life pretty much sucks afterwards. Which is what I've suspected all along. I feel like, for my parent's sake, I need to be the kid who is financially independent. My sister is living off of donations for her school in Mexico, my brother does have a paying job but it's just with the after-school programs. My parents are always talking about how they're worried about him. My mom says it's different for me because I'm a girl and I won't have to support a family but I don't care! IF I do get married I don't want to be a stay-at-home-mom. It's not that there's anything wrong with that it's just not for me. And frankly I don't really even want to get married because getting married implies having children and I really, really don't want to have children. Anyhow, sorry for subjecting you to all this, I just really needed to vent. Especially since talking to other people at Whitworth doesn't help because I'm always just hearing about how they got an A on such and such a test or how they're really disappointed in the A- they got when at this point I'd die to get an A-. I'm just so disappointed with myself and so worried about how I'm going to support myself after college and I know I should trust God but it's so much easier to say than to do.
So this weekend was Fall Break. Which was nice. I read Sense and Sensibility. That was cool. Unfortunately I kind of forgot about the existence of homework. The result of which was a mad scramble yesterday that will continue throughout the week to get everything done. Needless to say, I don't think I'll get the president's cup when I graduate. Stupid financial accounting.
We've started using batons in conducting. That is fun. There are even 2 sizes to choose from, 12 inches and 14 inches. I use a 12 inch baton because I'm short.
One of the benefits of being on the college radio station is you have access to all their CD's. Granted you couldn't pay me to listen to half of them, and I don't think I'd fork out money for any of it, but it is a good opportunity to listen to some new stuff. So I added some Matisyahu to my playlist. He's an Hasidic Jewish reggae rapper... Which is different.
Well, not really. I think that's impossible. But I am extremely tired and it's not over yet! For an idea of what my week has unexpectedly been like, here's a schedule.
Monday - 8:00a.m. - Fitness Programs started! Oh boy... I now have an 8:00am PE class to get to every morning. Lucky me. Afterwards I eat and shower and by the time I'm done it's time for...
10:40a.m. - Core 250! The lecture was on Kant. Forrest lectured. He's pretty much my favorite of the core team, so that was good. I was also reminded at this point that we had a test on Wednesday. Yep, definitely didn't study for that over my "laid-back" weekend.
noon - I can't remember. Possibly lunch. Probably finishing up the homework for Financial Accounting.
1:00 - Conducting.
2:00 - Financial Accounting. We have a project due Wednesday. Woohoo.
3:00 - I don't even remember this until 8:00p.m. when I had rehearsal with my combo.
Tuesday - 9:00a.m. - Radio. Hurray. I get to play "music" I hate with a few exceptions.
11:00a.m. - Radio's done. I study for my test tomorrow for an hour. Then I have a meeting with a fellow accounting student and we try to hammer out our project but I have to leave at 1:30.
1:30p.m. - Jazz lessons. We look over Jazz 1 tunes as I'm more concerned about that rehearsal.
2:00 - I practice until 3:30, then I pray that my first Jazz 1 rehearsal will go well.
3:30 - It doesn't.
5:00 - I run back to my dorm and try to orientate myself before...
5:30 - Radio class.
6:00 - Get ready for combo concert.
6:15 - dinner with the fam. I haven't eaten since 9:00 in the morning.
8:00 - It's go time. The combo concert is on. I could have done better, but I was happy to see everyone who came.
9:00 - 1:00a.mish - Homework/study for core test.
Wednesday - 8:00a.m.! - Fitness Programs! We did fitness testing. Push-ups, sit-ups, sit and reach, and a 12 minute run.
9:30 -breakfast/last-minute study session
10:40 - Core test
Noon - practice piano
1:00 - Conducting. We got out early so I grabbed a quick lunch of champions. PB&J, veggies, and a double-shot espresso.
2:00 - financial accounting
3:00 - I pretty much practiced until 6:30, there was a 30 minute break in there somewhere, and I may not have started until 3:30 or 4:00 because all the practice rooms were full. I sat in the hall and waited until somebody left. I feel kind of stupid having to practice for that long, but at the same I'd only had one rehearsal and I had about six or so tunes to learn.
6:30 - Jazz 1 rehearsal number 2. This one went marginally better. Now if I can just improve that much over again by tomorrow night I might do alright at the performance.
7:00 - More practicing.
7:30 - Dinner. A bowl of cereal and a glass of water because saga is closed.
8:00 - Home again home again and with zero ambition to do anything productive until I've had a good night's sleep.
I have homework. So of course I'm blogging. It's been a very fun weekend/month/semester so far. Yesterday a group of us music majors/minors went to the Coeur d'Alene Symphony to hear Angela play. Phil Baldwin is the concertmaster and there was a good cellist and violinist guest artist. They played a piece from an opera by Rimsky-Korsakov, Haydn's Clock Symphony, and the Brahms double concerto. The concerto was by far the best. Then we all went to dockside and had way too much fun and made stupid music jokes and decided that we would have to coordinate similar outings so that we music people wouldn't be so isolated in the future. It was a great time.
Of course we had our usual Pride and Prejudice viewing on Saturday morning, and I got to attend a P.G. Wodehouse reading on Friday at Margaret's which I've been missing since combo started. This morning the Whitworth Choir sang at Whit Pres, so that was cool. And this afternoon there's a violin and piano recital at the music building. I've never heard William Bolcolm before so I'm looking forward to it. It's been a good weekend for music.
The SMTA also had their workshop this weekend and I was required to go to it. They had some good points and by far the most interesting thing I learned was about some research by Barry Bittman. Apparently music physically impacts people on the DNA level. Something to do with the stress response. There's a whole website devoted to it if you have time to kill. Just search for Barry Bittman.
There's been so much going on I'm sure I've forgotten quite a bit. It seems like I've done something every weekend, which is strange for me. A couple of weeks ago I got to visit Ben Brody's house with his History and Theology of Worship class. Once again I am amazed at the amazingness of Whitworth professors. I had simply decided to tag along to mass with my roommate since their whole class was going and I know people in the schola (hurray!). But afterwards Dr. Brody invited me to join the rest of his class and go to his house for dinner. There was homemade lasagna and pumpkin cake and interesting musical discussion. Amazing. Sometimes I think I was born for academia. And talk about generosity. I'm not even in his class and he invited me to his house! I love Whitworth.
I can't remember what I did last weekend. Oh wait! BJ night! Katie organized a reunion for all the BJ girls in our class. We went to David's Pizza and ate lots of pizza and just "chilled as we'd never chilled before" as Katie put it. It was a good time. Afterwards Smac and I went and saw this hilarious comedian that ASWU had brought in. I don't think I've ever been so involved with campus life and activities and socialness before. I feel like the academic side of things isn't as demanding as it has been in the past. Maybe I'm getting the hang of it and maybe I just took easier classes this term. I still need to stay a little more on top of things however. My grades aren't stellar at the moment. But life is good.
Have you ever heard of Gypsy Jazz?
I need something mindless to do while I listen to music. Because this year I'm really taking advantage of having access to tons of music via my dorm's network. It's great.
Today's been kind of crazy. I had a Core 250 exam this morning. It's interesting to see how various people prepare for Core. Have I talked about Core? I'm sure I have... It's a series of 3 required classes that you must take in order to graduate regardless of your major. Well, there are some exceptions but not many. Core 150 is kind of an "intro to the Christian faith" writ large... Actually, even after passing it I'm still not quite sure what the unifying theme of it is. It's a little bit of theology, some history, cultural studies... I dunno. Right now I'm in Core 250, which is straight philosophy and it's amazing. We've just finished a unit on Plato, Aristotle, the Sophists, Augustine, and Aquinas. Which, you may imagine, would be kind of overwhelming if you'd never heard of these people before. So some people were really freaking out and having all-nighters and some people barely studied. I'd say I fall into the tertium quid.
Anyhow, in addition to the first Core exam of the semester, I had a paid gig tonight. I was kind of freaking out about it because there was no way to prepare. It was just a show up and read out of the Real Book type of deal. But, fortunately, my sight-reading has improved tremendously, so I survived. I was really nervous in the hours leading up to it though. After my last class of the day, I basically had to get ready for my gig at 5:30. It complicated matters that I had to use Whitworth's electric keyboard. This required transporting said keyboard and an amp across campus. I don't know how I would have done it without our drummer's help. Since he has to move a whole drum set, he brought a car with a lot of space and could help me lift things. It didn't help that it was raining, so we had to cover the cymbals, amps, and electrical wires while moving them from location to location. It took a long time to set up, and after we had been messing around with this for maybe 45 minutes, the instrumentalists decided to show up. Instrumentalists have it so easy. Although usually I can't complain about the set up part. Although I can complain about the instrument.
The actual gig was Whitworth's "Pirate Night," which is basically an auction that benefits the athletics department. So there were lots of rich people and the atmosphere was really nice. I don't mind getting paid for something like that. It's probably the best job I've ever had, even though my playing was all over the place. I hate keyboards. I could not hear myself through the amp. That makes it kind of difficult.
So we've started an unofficial Jane Austen/period drama club I think. We meet at 10a.m. on Saturdays and watch movies such as Pride and Prejudice (the miniseries), Emma, Sense and Sensibility, I think North and South is on the list... It's a good time. Recently we've provided sugary cereal just for fun. You know, the gross stuff that has no nutritional value but reminds you of childhood? It's amazing.
That is all.
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Now playing: Beethoven - 04. Symphonie Nr.1 C-dur op.21 - IV; Adagio - Allegro molto e viva
via FoxyTunes
So, part of my so far amazing weekend is the fact that the Magic Lantern had its grand reopening. Originally a small theater for what I'll refer to, for lack of a better name, indie films in the 1970's, the Magic Lantern has returned to provide us with things that Hollywood blockbusters just can't. For me, this means foreign films.
Don't ask me where my spontaneous interest in film, or foreign film, has come from. All I know is I was inspired to take a foreign film class this semester which so far has been amazing. So I was excited to learn about the Magic Lantern because so often I hear about cool films that I will never see because Spokane is so small. I guess it's the fact that I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm always missing out on something. America is not obviously the only place that has films, or music, or art of merit. And I know that there are about a billion amazing live performances in bigger cities that blow Spocompton out of the water.
But now that the world is shrinking so rapidly, we have both the exhilarating and the terrifying opportunity to virtually see it all. For someone like me, this kind of a chance is almost suicide. Because I'm the type of person who WANTS to see it all. To not miss anything because our time here is limited, and while heaven will be infinitely better, think of all the things I could learn in the meantime! It's silly I know. And yet it's not. It could be a philosophy if I just refined it a little more. There is good solid sense in there somewhere. At the same time there is the danger of taking it too far. Of becoming so obsessed with consumption and all the experiences life has to offer that I miss the important stuff. While I'm glued to YouTube watching old jazz performances, or going to the movies, or the theater, or even a concert like the symphony I'm missing out on life. On people. Not things. Real people. Real relationships. On a real God. Art is supposed to be there to enhance life. To add meaning to it. To help us understand it. Not to replace it. And I think finding a balance in our consumption of not just entertainment but EVEN ART is increasingly becoming the challenge of this era. In my opinion we've probably already crossed the line. I've probably already crossed the line. Idolatry is alive and well...
That's kind of depressing. I could go on. But that random rant was not what this post was originally for. Through circumstances I will probably expound on later, I found myself at the opening of the Magic Lantern buying tickets for Katrina and I to see "La Vie en Rose," a French film that roughly translates to "Life Through Rose-Colored Glasses."
The film follows the life of French singer Edith Piaf. I had never even heard the name Edith Piaf before seeing this film. I had no idea what it was about. All I knew is my film prof recommended it and Katrina wanted to see it like most people want to pass final exams. Anyhow, I didn't know what I was getting into. But it was good. It was very good. Edith Piaf was an ICON in France in the early to mid 1900's. Like Frank Sinatra or Elvis is here. I'd never heard of her, yet the minute that soundtrack started playing I found the music to be extremely familiar. I had never heard half the songs before, and I'm sure I'd never heard her sing before (the score utilized actual recordings of her), but I'd heard her influence on the world of music.
The trailer makes it look like just an ordinary "biopic." But the way Olivier Dahan directs this makes it more consequential than the slough of similar pictures that have flooded American screens. Films like Ray, De-Lovely, whatever that one on the Temptations was called... Part of it is because Edith Piaf had one of the craziest lives in human existence. Born on the streets, shuffled from her alcoholic maternal grandparents to her grandmother who worked as a cook in a brothel to life with her father who was a wandering contortionist. She sang on the streets until she was discovered and put to work on the cabaret stage and later became well, almost world-famous. Yeah. Insane. I'd say the fact that she was pretty emotionally unstable is pretty understandable. She had too many love affairs for me to count. I'm not sure if she was married once or twice. She had a daughter early in life, but wasn't a very good mother to her (hmmm, wonder why) and later lost her to some sort of illness. She lost the love of her life in a plane crash (who was, by the way, married with three children). She was a chronic alcoholic AND, after being prescribed morphine after a car accident, she became dependent on it requiring 10 shots a day. This led understandably to health problems and her premature death at the age of 47. Yikes, to say the least.
The scary thing is I know almost none of this from the movie. Most of it was gleaned from my own research after I was back in my room. Because the movie doesn't move chronologically. It unfolds as a series of sequences that span from childhood to the day of her death in no apparent order. It's impossible to understand what's happening sometimes. And of course creative license was taken in places. And yet, the conglomeration created a cohesive whole. Because it presented the whole person. At once. In her death scene, at the end of the movie, we don't see just some old woman dying. We see the young child, the 20-year-old, the rat on the streets, the revered artist, all dying at once. It's hard to explain, but it's extremely emotional.
The movie is not flawless, although surprisingly clean considering its subject matter. Not clean. Just surprisingly cleaner than you'd expect. There are some overly-sentimental scenes. Some contrived. And one, in which St. Therese speaks to her out of a poorly-animated swirl of flame, that reminded me more of Disney than of French sophistication. If I was into French, or France, or had lots of money I might consider buying it. But as it is, it's not a favorite. But I am really glad I saw it.
What touched me about it was seeing this amazing woman, and what she became, and where she came from. It really makes one think about how childhood shapes us for the rest of our lives. How some people can rise above their beginnings, and yet everyone is ultimately fettered in some way by their upbringing. Another striking theme for me was her devotion to St. Therese. Whether she really was so devoted or not, I can hardly call the devotion "Christian," as I define it (and don't make snarky comments Karen, I doubt you'd agree with anyone who said a saint had sent them a married man in order to be their lover...) And yet it really reminded me, starkly, of the power, the draw, that Christ and our faith has on those who are desperate. No matter how many missions, food banks, or shelters we set up I don't think we will ever respond to this need enough. I don't think we will ever fully know the power Christ has to change lives. It's beyond our sinful comprehension in a way that's simultaneously saddening and wonderful. If anyone is confused by this, I'd love to discuss it further. I think it was the three things I've mentioned: her life/death and how it was presented, her upbringing and how it affected her, and my own inserted reminder of my commission as a Christian that really, really made me appreciate this film.
So I'd love it if you'd listen to the three songs I've put on my playlist and remember that it's not just some random French lady singing in a language you can't understand and rolling her R's a lot. It's Edith Piaf. Musically, I think she was superb. Crap it's 10:00 and I need to practice.
I've realized now that my failure to post anything about The Weekend Retreat has been a severe misjudgment on my part.
What is the Weekend? It's something that the chapel puts on every year mostly for the benefit of lost little freshmen or just for upperclassmen who don't want to admit they're upperclassmen. It's a way to get to know people, get away from campus and homework and stress and just have some fun and Christian fellowship. And so last Friday evening after almost missing the bus (I had to get a sleeping bag from my dad) I found myself on my way to Riverview Bible Camp, which just so happens to be a camp I stayed at when I was little. In fact, we ended up staying in the same cabin as I did the last time I'd been there. I was with a great group of girls. We all got along really well even though we were all super different.
Whitworth always brings in a speaker of some sort for this and we have a series of what I guess you'd call "mini" chapels. Hosanna, Whitworth's worship team, did a great job leading worship (although I'm biased because I know half of them) and then we'd have a small church service. This year's speaker was Mosos Pulei, who is a new professor in the theology department. Here's the thing, he grew up in a Maasai tribe in Kenya. !!!. He went to Whitworth as a student through support from World Vision, and then after doing some work in Kenya he went to graduate school and I think Princeton seminary. I think that sounds right. But he grew up in a Maasai tribe! He had some crazy stories. He killed a leopard with a spear when he was a teenager!!! A leopard! And I guess his parents arranged a marriage for him while he was at Whitworth with a 13-year-old or something. When he came back home after 2 years, they expected him to get married. Instead, he was able to adopt her as his sister (it's a Maasai thing). So it was cool just to hear him talk about his life.
Besides that pretty much nobody got any studying done. I enjoyed an awesome game of basketball and frisbee, and went down Riverview's ginormous slide a couple six times, and watched my friends make fools out of themselves at the "dance" party... And I also watched my friends run around with plastic geese on their heads.
Okay, that one takes some explaining. We were having a cabin discussion outside when someone said "are those fake geese?" I was wondering what made a goose inauthentic as opposed to "real" when I saw that they meant some like lawn-ornament type hollow geese that were sitting a few yards from us. Do not ask me where they came from. Do not ask me what they were for. I do not know. I just know we had way to much fun with them. One of the girls put one on her head and terrorized the boys. We took three of them to our cabin and named them Duck, Duck, and Maverick. We took lots of pictures. Here is one.
Anyhow, it's kind of hard to explain. My roommate got a video of the girl sneaking up on the praying boys whilst wearing the above goose, but we have not yet got it on the internet. Anyhow, it hardly needs to be said that we had way too much fun and were very sad to get back to the real world when we did. This weekend is turning out to be similarly amazing and I will have to post about. It's good to have crazy fun times.
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Now playing: Horace Silver - Sister Sadie
via FoxyTunes
Saga had a lot of professors in it today. Yoder was there. So was President B-Rob. And of course Dr. K. I've always been envious of the science majors because they get to eat lunch with Kamesh Sankaran, who is affectionately known as "The Rocket Scientist," or Dr. K.
The man is a fixture at campus dining services. Or anywhere else. He makes a point of eating with students, talking with students, asking names, opinions, and challenging critical thinking skills. It's always been a farfetched goal of mine to have lunch with two persons. Bill Robinson (he also scouts saga for unsuspecting students sometimes) and The Rocket Scienctist. I mean, anyone who VOLUNTARILY eats at saga on his own buck has got to be committed to a cause. Alas, I am not ever anywhere near the science building except for film class so my chances of dining with the immaculately dressed Dr. K have always been slim (the man wears a full suit and tie every day, which is unusual as most Whitworth profs prefer the sweatervest-and-clashing-shirt look).
But luck would have it that my freshman friend Elizabeth knows a couple of science kids, who were eating lunch with us today, and who should sit at our table but the elusive Dr. K. And so one more thing was checked off my "experiences to have before I graduate" list.
We talked about Christianity and evaluating speakers that come to campus and things. Well, he asked questions and I watched the freshmen stagger through them, trying to feel smug while confusedly sorting out what this guy was really getting at. The fact that I had been to neither of the lectures they were referencing didn't help (although in this case I can honestly say that the excuse of "I can't, I have rehearsal" was legit). All in all, I enjoyed it a lot and left early for some procrastinated homework leaving behind three intrigued freshmen and one of the coolest professors on campus.
Whitworth has started a new program called "Dine with a Mind," where students can ask professors to come share in a delicious meal of saga food. It's cool. I would do it. If it wasn't so inherently awkward. "Um, excuse me Dr. Person-who's-really-busy-and-is-probably-fawned-on-by-students-all-day, would you have dinner with me? Maybe a short movie afterwards? We can talk about Plato's allegory of the cave..." It's just not the kind of thing I would do. Yet there are several professors on my list that I would love to sit down with and say "what do you think about X?" And the mere fact that I have the opportunity to do this makes me love Whitworth more than ever. Long live college. Now if I could just get B-Rob's number...
Allow me to be super-elated here for a moment and say: I MADE JAZZ COMBO 1! Or something like it. The bottom line, is I managed to weasel my way into one of the top jazz combos. AHHHHH!!!!!! As exciting as this is, it's also a lot of pressure and responsibility. But mostly it's exciting. I am going to chain myself to that piano this year. I also, uh, made jazz ensemble 2. Slight problem: I have a conflict. I have night classes on Tuesdays and it meets Tuesday and Thursday nights. So we'll see what happens with that. In the meantime it is time to start seriously hitting that piano, maybe write a few jazz arrangements, do some transcribing... *dances away while screaming hysterically*
So I've been sitting here for half an hour waiting for my amazing roommate to get back from the writing center so she can loan me her laundry card. Because mine only has 25 cents on it. The clothes and detergent are all loaded... I just need fifty more cents or so. Luckily my roommate is a kind, generous and trusting soul who is able to put up with my many crises. Otherwise life would be much more difficult. Like right now for instance. I would be standing in the laundry room, debating whether to ask for the generosity of a complete stranger while hoping that my clothes weren't being defiled by laundry detergent. Laundry detergent isn't really of much use to anybody without water. That's an awkward situation I'd much rather avoid as doing laundry is, in and of itself, awkward enough. Imagine: you're about to wash your undergarments when a guy walks in and decides to use the machine next to you. You're standing there with a pile of embarrassing clothes items. What do you do? Hide? Stuff them all into the machine as quickly as possible? Avoid eye contact? A combination of all three?
Or perhaps A) you need to use a dryer which is full of some guy's boxer shorts... or B) you walk in and some guy is unloading a dryer full of the equivalent of YOUR boxer shorts...!!! or even worse C) you and said guy know each other! All are situations I have for the most part been able to avoid, to my knowledge. But the very thought of them strikes terror into my very soul. I mean, simply another girl examining my unmentionables is bad enough... I STRONGLY DISLIKE LAUNDROMATS AND ALL FORMS OF COMMUNITY LAUNDRY ACTIVITY! In fact the only time I prefer people to observe my clothing is when I'M WEARING IT and this DEFINITELY EXCLUDES UNMENTIONABLES! This would explain why I hate shopping. I can just see myself waiting in line to buy a shirt while the two girls behind me whisper to each other about how hideous it is. Am I paranoid? Yes.
My other fear is that, either I will see someone or vice versa and recognize the clothes they are wearing from when I had to remove their laundry from the dryer. I suppose this shouldn't bother me, but it does. Just think "oh, there's Heidi, wait... I recognize that t-shirt. I've had to pull it out of the dryer like fifty times... She must not own many clothes..." Which is true. My first year of college my closet made it look like I was an ascetic. Some of my clothing this year still has tags on it because I haven't worn it yet.
My lack of clothing and shoes and such is simply proof that somewhere along the line I missed a few crucial lessons in the femininity department. Either that or I refused to attend. Probably the latter. Take make-up for example. Even stage make-up scares me, and I have far more experience with that than with the normal kind. I was out looking for foundation while shopping with my mom and sister and I asked mom how to choose the right tone/shade/whatever. Her response? "I don't know." I love my mother, but sometimes it's no wonder I'm at a loss as far as womanly guidance is concerned. So I try my best and hope I don't embarrass myself too thoroughly although if I do I'm used to it and try to laugh at myself.
I don't think boys truly appreciate the pressures of being female. They assume that fashion sense, color coordination, and the ability to smell nice all come naturally. Like when you're twelve you have an epiphany and think "Aha! Red and purple are not complimentary!" Or in my case, you paint the rocket you made in science class red and purple and your gay friend tells you that they clash. My career as an artist died that day. I still carry the scars.
Yes, I was never cut out to be a girly-girl. You know, the kind that giggle politely instead of laughing obnoxiously, walk gracefully in heels, know how to braid their hair in five different patterns, and actually like the color pink. But does the fact that I don't know what color is currently in style or whether or the fact that I look like a deranged mime whenever I try to apply lipstick necessarily make me unfeminine? Okay, maybe some people would say yes, I'm a freak. And I'd agree. But I'd like to argue that femininity means more than pink and Maybelline just like masculinity is more than football and barbecuing. And I think our culture is seriously confused about exactly what it means to be masculine or feminine. It's like these new "outreach" programs for men. Apparently "men hate going to church." And to remedy this what are we doing? We're adding men's get-togethers that include football and barbecuing. Nothing against all that, but I'm thinking if guys are finding something lacking in the church, football isn't exactly going to fix the problem. There's probably something a little deeper going on there.
So stay tuned as we explore these exciting topics, because the popular cultural definitions of what is masculine and what is feminine have been ticking me off every since I was 12. These superficial definitions are absolutely ridiculous and mean absolutely nothing. Don't tell me what I have to look like, don't tell me what I have to act like, and stay away from my laundry.
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Now playing: Frank Sinatra - My Funny Valentine
via FoxyTunes
Please listen to Tchaikovsky beat. It's amazing. How did I find this musical gem? Well, it all started while driving back from the amazing British tea I had with Karen and friends. Tchaikovsky's Slavonic March was playing on the radio, which just happens to be one of my favorite pieces. So I thought I would add it to my blog. Well, I found one version which is played way too fast. And Tchaikovsky Beat. You're probably listening to it right now and marveling at its... brilliance.
I also have a nice little composition about college life by Relient K, Help! by the Beatles, which pretty much sums up college life, the three best songs by Pink Martini I could find on the internet, Whitworth's unofficial theme song (I'll Make a Man Out of You, trust me, you hear it everywhere), Symphony No. 9 by Dvorak, and Symphony No. 25 by Mozart. Enjoy. I know I am. It's almost midnight. Yay University.
Well, after an extended absence not altogether due to busyness, I return to tell you a little bit about life in a small town and the good folks at St. John Hardware.
It's funny, I've lived in a small town all my life, but I've never really appreciated the community until this summer. This year, after failing to get a position at college I was still determined to find a job with an indoor toilet. I sent out quite a few applications but generally the post had already been filled or I didn't meet the qualifications (no, I've never worked in a green house before...) I was really hoping for that greenhouse job. That would've been sweet. The local hardware store had been advertising for summer help and I put in an application out of desperation. I was called for the interview which I nailed after falling flat on my face at Whitworth. Lo and behold I was hired.
Machinery is definitely not my thing. Still, this was one of the few full time jobs that I was qualified for and the pay and hours weren't too bad. I'm still not exactly sure why they hired me. Jerry, my boss, told me they'd hired girls before and there shouldn't be a problem, but when they said there would be heavy lifting they weren't kidding. I felt useless half the time because I couldn't do everything they needed me to do. But then, they did only have five applicants. I was one of two they hired and that allows us to work a schedule of four ten hour shifts. Having Sunday through Tuesday off suits me perfectly, and the fact that the other guy has pretty much pissed off everyone in the store by showing up late or not at all makes me look good by comparison. But the four days I did work were not my cup of tea.
The crew comprised of Jerry, the good-natured somewhat goofy supervisor, Greg, his fellow parts guy, Ray, who runs inventory, and T.J., my cohort. I see quite a bit of Regina, who sells appliances, and Lori who does the office work too. Scott and Jo, the owners, pretty much live upstairs. The mechanics work out back.
It's not exactly a place where you make bosom friends. Sure, they're good-natured in their way. Greg and Ray enjoyed harassing me as though I was a freshman being hazed. I didn't mind so much since there was no malice in it. I simply tried to ignore the random squirt gun attacks, verbal jibes, and practical jokes. I felt like I had "Fresh Meat" written on my forehead and knowing them I might have. However, judging from the stories they told me, the could have made it a lot worse.
What I did isn't exactly interesting. Hauling around combine parts, cleaning, checking inventory, and the occasional day trip to Walla Walla were all part of the fun. Yesterday was my last day. I have survived the abuse and company politics. But one thing I have gotten from it was an appreciation of the tightly-knit community here. Everyday I saw the same people at the grocery store (er, both of them), the bank, the post office, the library... I know most of them by name. They all know me.
I'm not sure where I'm going with this. As much as I enjoy this community, it's almost suffocating at times. I'm often at odds with myself. Who is going to take care of the house when my parents are too old? Would I like it better in a big city? I dream of moving away, and yet I can't imagine living anywhere else. I'm anxious to go back to school, but I know how stifling it can be at times. You can't have it both ways I guess, but sometimes I feel like Samwise Gamgee. I shall always be torn in two.
So, we've covered Howl's Moving Castle, now onto what is undoubtedly Miyazaki's best film. It is not my favorite film of his, but I can objectively step back and see that it really is his best. It's hard to explain. It stole the first Academy Award for an animated film out under the nose of Disney, it was Japan's favorite movie, and yet a lot of people I've talked to about it want to know, Why?
The movie centers around Chihiro, a somewhat spoiled and lazy 10-year-old girl. Chihiro and her parents are moving to a new home and Chihiro is naturally upset. Her parents are unfortunately not too sympathetic but then, Miyazaki has his reasons for this I've found. On the way they get lost and end up in what they assume to be an abandoned theme park. Lured into the theme park by the smell of what I assume is enchanted food, Chihiro's parents decide to gorge themselves and, in what is some of the most shocking animation I've ever seen transform into pigs.
And so Chihiro is trapped alone in what she soon learns is the spirit world or something like that. Humans don't belong and aren't safe here, but Chihiro is helped by Haku, a mysterious boy who works as an apprentice for the sorceress Yubaba. Chihiro's only hope to rescue her parents and escape is to find work at the bath house Yubaba runs, where spirits come to rest and rejuvinate.
Sure, it's bizarre, but no more so than your average Grimm's fairy tale, which is how I soon decided to approach this. Chihiro must overcome a number of formidable tasks and obstacles on her quest to return home. The great thing is that Chihiro is just a normal 10-year-old girl. She's not some Disney princess or teen pop icon, saving the world while going out with Ken and touching up her mascara. :-) Her clothes are a little baggy on her, she stumbles and is clumsy, she's timid and unsure of herself, but she's also good-natured and friendly and in true Miyazaki fashion ten times more"real" than most of the movie biz' creations. Here is someone that kids might actually be able to identify with perhaps.
Miyazaki puts all his usual devices into play. Large black shadowy figures (he almost always has them, think of the chase scene I posted of Howl's Moving Castle, there's one in Princess Mononoke too, and Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind), older women (don't ask me, but he has these characters a lot), young female protagonists, a flying scene, they're all there. And of course that amazing, wonderful attention to detail. Chihiro takes the time to wiggle her foot into her shoes when putting them on, we can feel the weight of the coal she has to carry and smell the stench of the stink spirit all because of small details and expressions. All of these add up to a wonderful sense of artistry and storytelling, but that's not the be all and end all of a creative work.
I read a "Christian" review of Spirited Away and it kind of ticked me off to be frank with you. It called Spirited Away "slickly packaged pantheism," which pretty much sums up the tone of the whole review. Well... sure, there are river gods and radish spirits and wood spirits and whatever else. I guess that is pantheism. But what the review was insinuating was that Miyazaki's goal is to brain wash people into going out and bowing down to the nearest tree. Well, if you have a problem with river gods, you'd better throw out your C.S. Lewis, that's all I'll say. I'm not saying the movie is entirely appropriate for children or that it has the same Christian themes Lewis employs. Hardly. But the emphasis here is on the importance of hard work, friendship, inner potential, growth. I particularly appreciate the hard work part. Chihiro struggles through a number of unpleasant and grueling tasks, but each and every one shows the rewards of simply gritting your teeth and tackling something. These are good values. As a Christian, I place great value on Christian works that are sources of wisdom for my life. But, I also place great worth on other things. I'm not saying I approach Spirited Away the same way I would approach the Chronicles of Narnia. For myself as a Christian, Spirited Away does not hold the same tapestry of richly woven truths that reflect my Christian condition as Chronicles of Narnia. But it does hold truths, and of course that's the ultimate test of a movie or book or whatever in my opinion.
While Spirited Away may not be my favorite Miyazaki movie, it does have some of my favorite scenes ever! After Chihiro first meets Haku, he tells her she must find the boiler room and ask someone named "Kamaji" for work. The way to the boiler room lies along a steep rickety staircase on the outside of the bath house. Chihiro edges her way down it, first sliding from step to step, then gradually getting braver and standing. Just as we think she's got it, the step breaks and Chihiro is propelled, screaming, to the bottom of the staircase where she stops abruptly, flattened by the wall. Not much happens, but the way this is executed is brilliant.
Kamaji, who is one of my favorite characters of all time, turns out to be an old man with something like six arms, which he employs in heating the baths above. He has enchanted the soot in the room to carry coal for him. The soot creatures can't speak, but it doesn't take away from their personality. I would like one for a pet.
And of course there's the obligitory flying scene, in which Chihiro rides on a dragon. These scenes stay with you.
But my favorite by far is when Chihiro takes the train. That's the scene I'm posting here. It's a shame you have to see it this way, but better here than not at all. If you ever do see the movie, the fact that you've already seen this may ruin it for you. It's not a key plot point, there's virtually no dialogue, but at the same time it's not overdone or trying to be artsy.
In case you're wondering what's really going on in these parts, my brother and sister-in-law have officially moved in to Great Uncle Ed's old place. They had a house-warming party today and they've really done wonders to the interior.
I remember visiting the place about twice a year in my childhood. Once on Halloween, when I would receive buckets of candy from all my relatives in the country because they had no one else to give it to, and at Christmas when we would borrow the axe from Ed before going to chop down our Christmas tree. By that time Ed was getting up in years, so the only impression I ever had of him was of an older man who stooped and hobbled along on rather long, bandy Olson legs. I loved Uncle Ed.
It was always a somewhat surreal experience. Uncle Ed was a bachelor his whole life and not exactly an expert on interior decor. The back room was always full of stacks of beer bottles, of which Ed would always offer my dad one. This was the only time I ever saw my dad drink beer, and it was a little shocking (gasp!) but I knew it was okay because it was with Ed. Then we would move to the dining room where Uncle Ed would reminisce in a barely audible voice while you would try to shout back answers when he asked you anything because he was so hard of hearing from all those years on farm machinery. I loved Uncle Ed.
I always thought the dining room was the ugliest room I had ever seen. It's white walls and gold-spattered white floor were almost blinding and reminded me of the school cafeteria. The furniture looked like it belonged in a poorly funded futuristic sci-fi movie. The chairs in particular were so hideous that even at the tender age of seven it felt weird just to sit on one.
Uncle Ed had a different way of doing things. He was probably the most practical man you'd ever meet. He used to have, I'm told, a beautiful solid oak table that adorned the dining room. But he threw it over a cliff because "it wobbled." My relatives have never completely forgiven that. So you can imagine what kind of a state the house was in when my brother and Jenny decided to buy it from Uncle Jon (or however we're related, I'm not sure), who had inherited it.
Since I'm basically a generation in and of myself, I've sort of watched the older generation pass on. It's kind of sad. Uncle Ed was the last of "the brothers" of my grandfather's generation. With them has gone, it seems, the whole concept of the family farm and my family's livelihood for the past four generations. But we're Swedish, so we shrug it off. These things happen. It's the farmer's mantra.
At the same time, I personally don't think farming in any form is the life for me. I know what it is and it's not fun. You have to have that special connection to it, or you won't last long. And it was fulfilling to see the old house passed on to Eric and Jenny, ready for a whole new generation of Olsons. There's enough of the family up there, I think they should try to be an independent state. I don't know if they will keep the house, it's in pretty bad shape. But what they have done with it so far, while they save their money for perhaps something better, is amazing. The relatives and the community seem to approve. And Uncle Jon was happy he didn't have to sell it to "some Jerkwater" who would put up a lot of fences and make it difficult to move machinery.
Jules Feiffer is wise. Now, I know next to nothing about Mr. Feiffer. I don't know where he grew up, went to school, or whether or not he likes cheese pizza. I haven't read his biography, and the only thing I dimly remember hearing about him is that he did cartoons for the New York Times, or something like that... So how do I know he is wise? Because I have read "A Barrel of Laughs, A Vale of Tears," which is proof of this and also that my friends have excellent taste.
The book is unlike any other children's book (assuming it is a children's book) or really anything I've ever read before, which was very refreshing. It's very charming and witty and a whole lot of fun, but the thing that made it all really worth it was that beneath all this cleverness some pretty worthwhile statements were being made. Take this passage for example:
"Because Roger was a carrier of joy, he spread it before him. It glowed off his presence like the rays of the sun. He was a special delight to his mother, and the thought of this he found particularly gratifying because of her sudden demise. Out for a swim one day, she'd been swallowed by a blue whale.
He missed his mother, but whales were his favorite mammal and blue was his favorite color, so, if she had to go, that didn't seem like such a bad way. After a while, Roger came to smile at the thought of that blue whale on that bright green sea gulping down his mother in a red-striped swimming costume as if she was a candy cane."
Okay, so maybe that's just silly. Everybody knows blue whales eat plankton! But it sure was a lot of fun. Or maybe that's sick. But I'm getting ahead of myself. The book follows the story of Roger, who is a danger to the general public because he can't get within half a mile of anybody without making them laugh. Roger is a prince, but since he can't associate with people much, this ability of his would get in the way of him being a responsible king, so the royal wizard decides the only thing to do is to go on a quest. Of course. What else?
Feiffer has a lot of fun playing with cliches of the genre, and his two-dimensional characters (the book is illustrated) have more depth than some adult novels I've run across. But, as I was saying, there's more too it than that.
"'I've never HAD to make a decision before.'
'Think of it as a challenge,' said Tom, from between pursed lips.
'How do you go about it?' asked Roger...
...'You just- You put together all the- You think this way and that- You make a list- You weight the alternatives-" Tom fell silent. 'I'm a peasant,' he said at last. 'I've never had to make a decision. People like you are supposed to make them for me.'
'What if I make one--and it's wrong?"
'I'm not an expert, but if a decision doesn't work out, my guess would be that you have to make another decision.'
'A SECOND decision?' cried Roger in alarm.
'I'm not an expert, but my guess would be you keep making decisions until you get one that works.'
'That could take YEARS!' said Roger the Toad.
'That's another reason why I don't make them.'
Yep kids, that's unfortunately how it works. For everything! It's kind of ludicrous when you do really think about it. So while that passage is playful, I think it's pretty intelligent to with a good sense of how bizarre life can be and perhaps just a little political subtext? Maybe not. But if I want political subtext I can have political subtext darn it, because I'm the reader and the reader gets what the reader wants! Or so I was taught in Honors Reading Lit.
"Now, when you're considerate of other people, it introduces a whole new set of problems."
Once again, it was little tidbits like this that made the book worthwhile. If you had the context, you would see that it simultaneously acknowledges that one has a responsibility to be considerate of other people, but also that this can be bothersome, but even so, it's very much worth doing and very much the right thing to do. What a great lesson to pack into a book! I know many adults who haven't quite grasped this concept, myself included.
"Tom turned to stone because he had made up his mind that he was going to...In fact, Tom didn't really turn to stone. But it took him a week of standing in one place, stiff as a statue, before he knew it. And that knowledge came only after he got thirsty and hungry. 'Stone statues don't get thirsty' was his first thought. 'Stone statues don't get hungry' was his second thought. 'Stone statues don't think' was his third thought...Tom leaves the book now, never to return. I will write no more of him, other than to say that he lives happily ever after. All by himself. Waking every day to the cherished memory that once he was a statue and now he's not."
So first of all, we've all been this silly. We can be so sure that something terrible is going to happen that we make it happen (self-fulfilling prophecies), and we can become so wrapped up in ourselves that we make the most mundane and stupid things into great accomplishments. Feiffer knows how humanity ticks. And he puts it in a little book that can easily be read in a few hours time. There's a lot more in this book I could go on about. Lots of little tidbits about friendship and heroism and feelings and all that great stuff that's supposed to be in great books. But as much as I enjoyed it all, the only thing it really did for me was to make me want to read more Jules Feiffer. :-)
So... this seemed appropriate since Father's Day is coming up.
This morning I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of delicious waffles while perusing the newspaper and chatting with my parents. The dog and the cat made general nuisances of themselves and we watched the house sparrows that live in our roof flying around the backyard. It was nice to be able to relax after the work week. As I got up to get some coffee, I noticed a newish looking watch sitting by the microwave.
"Is that a new watch or just the old one with a new band?" I asked. I didn't recognize it.
My dad looked up from the "Cars" section, sighed, and said "Well..."
This is a signal that a long and involved story is about to be told. It happens all the time. I think it's just the way my dad communicates. It doesn't matter how commonplace the subject matter is. I could ask him about the weather and he could probably come up with some trip down memory lane or obscure fact. Believe it or not, he actually managed to take 15 minutes or so just to explain that he had bought the watch around Christmas.
Whenever this happens, I always have this vision of my dad sitting around a campfire in ancient times a la Homer. He just knows how to tell a story. It's actually kind of impressive. He probably could have made a living out of it if he'd felt inclined. I've always attributed my love of books and reading to my dad's influence. I have vivid memories of him reading to me before bedtime, which I'm sure is true of a lot of people. But if you could hear my dad read from Tolkien or the short stories of Arthur Gordon you'd understand. There's no way a kid who grew up with that could NOT get it.
My dad taught me to have a deep appreciation for writing used as a means of expression and the power of the written word. I'm really grateful for this. There's not much to do out here in the country and I've spent many weekends simply polishing off another book or browsing at our little library. Reading can be one of the most enriching and fulfilling experiences in life if you know how to approach it and how to dig meaning out of the author's works. I'm not a great literary analyst by any means, and often times I read simply for pleasure and don't work that hard at finding a deeper significance. But when language is used well, it accomplishes something that neither music nor art can, because language is specific. That's an oversimplification of a complicated topic but I'm not here to write a dissertation.
So that is my written tribute to my father for Father's Day. I've always felt blessed for having a father who shows integrity, honesty, intelligence, is devoted to his family, and follows Christ. Unfortunately, that's a rare thing and something I tend to take for granted.
A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while.
But february made me shiver
With every paper I’d deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldn’t take one more step.
I can’t remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.
So bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
Did you write the book of love,
And do you have faith in God above,
If the Bible tells you so?
Do you believe in rock ’n roll,
Can music save your mortal soul,
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?
Well, I know that you’re in love with him
`cause I saw you dancin’ in the gym.
You both kicked off your shoes.
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues.
I was a lonely teenage broncin’ buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck,
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died.
I started singin’,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
Now for ten years we’ve been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rollin’ stone,
But that’s not how it used to be.
When the jester sang for the king and queen,
In a coat he borrowed from james dean
And a voice that came from you and me,
Oh, and while the king was looking down,
The jester stole his thorny crown.
The courtroom was adjourned;
No verdict was returned.
And while lennon read a book of marx,
The quartet practiced in the park,
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died.
We were singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
Helter skelter in a summer swelter.
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter,
Eight miles high and falling fast.
It landed foul on the grass.
The players tried for a forward pass,
With the jester on the sidelines in a cast.
Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While the sergeants played a marching tune.
We all got up to dance,
Oh, but we never got the chance!
`cause the players tried to take the field;
The marching band refused to yield.
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died?
We started singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
Oh, and there we were all in one place,
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again.
So come on: jack be nimble, jack be quick!
Jack flash sat on a candlestick
Cause fire is the devil’s only friend.
Oh, and as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
No angel born in hell
Could break that satan’s spell.
And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite,
I saw satan laughing with delight
The day the music died
He was singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news,
But she just smiled and turned away.
I went down to the sacred store
Where I’d heard the music years before,
But the man there said the music wouldn’t play.
And in the streets: the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken;
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son, and the holy ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died.
And they were singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."
They were singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."
